


Haunted Walk

by ElsieMcClay



Series: Voltron Fics [23]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Sick Lance (Voltron), Sickfic, halloween fic, voltron sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 21:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12639705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElsieMcClay/pseuds/ElsieMcClay
Summary: Lance gets sick, so Keith takes him home.





	Haunted Walk

**Author's Note:**

> For Halloween!!

Stupid sports. Stupid fundraisers. Stupid actually having to go outside. He hates it. Lance hates it all. At least, for today, he does. 

Every year, the track and field team is forced into the annual “Haunted Walk”. They go out, get dressed up in costumes, and they sit in the woods until some passerby walks past, and they jump out at them, only to shrink back into the dark underbrush a moment later. Well, some people chase the people walking around the trails. Lance does both things. He jumps out, chases people, then has to get back to his place before the next couple or group comes along. It’s tiring and gets boring after a while. 

Plus, it’s cold out. Almost every year, it gets cold and damp, like fall decides to come for one day before going back to the humid warmth of the days and the cool (but not terribly so) nights. Then, on the night of the Haunted Walk, it’s suddenly twenty degrees and everything is wet even though there’s no rain. 

Every year, the sports teams would pretty much play rock, paper, scissors to decide which team would do the walk. Lance thinks that whoever competes for the track team is the worst in the world when it comes to rock, paper, scissors. 

So, every year of his high school career, Lance has been forced into this stupid thing. Usually, it runs from around 7, when it starts getting dark, until 11-ish. Then, he has to stay for clean up, so he gets home around one in the morning. He didn’t know it was legal to keep kids for an event like that unless it was something in a whole other state for a field trip with permission slips and such but apparently it is because, y’know, he had to endure it three times now. 

Here’s the thing, though. Lance has really, really unfortunate luck. He loves his body, yeah, but his body hates him. The universe hates him. He never ever gets sick…unless it’s right before he has to sit through something or do something important. Like he loses his voice right before the speech that determines 80% of his final grade for the semester. Or he gets one of those colds that makes you really weak and shaky and sluggish right before the biggest track meet of the season. Any other day, he’s fine. Then his body decides to make him hate life. 

That’s exactly what happened this year. 

“Stupid immune system,’ Lance grumbles, pulling the mask he was given over the bottom half of his face. The top half is painted black and white and red in some “spooky” way. 

With the mask on, he can barely breathe on a day when his lungs aren’t dying just like the rest of him. Now, as he’s sick, he starts wheezing, unable to breathe properly. Pair that with running after people and screeching then running back and crouching in a bush for all of thirty seconds before starting it all over again, and Lance is nearly unconscious just from lack of oxygen he feels like he’s getting. That and he knows he has a fever by this point. He’s sweating and shivering and swaying and hobbling more than running after people. Maybe it’s scarier than he would be normally.

“You okay?” Keith hisses quietly as he sneaks over to where Lance is crouched and watching the oncoming group of middle schoolers. Lance grunts, mumbling something about Keith not being where he’s supposed to be. Keith rolls his eyes and goes to feel Lance’s forehead. He doesn’t get that far (Lance smacks his hand away and glares at him, but the glare doesn’t hold very long), but he doesn’t need to. From the way Lance is swaying and sweating, Keith knows he’s sick. “You’re sick. Why’d you think it was a good idea to come tonight? Moron,” he mutters, grabbing Lance by the elbow and pulling him up. 

Lance stumbles, groaning every once in awhile, as Keith leads him to their supervisor, Allura. 

“Lance is sick. I’m taking him home,” Keith says curtly, matter-of-factly. She doesn’t argue, but her brows furrow in worry. “Tell Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge that we’re both at his house.” She nods again, and Keith starts leading Lance away again, to the parking lot this time. 

A few moments into it, Lance collapses into Keith’s side, breathing hard. Panic flares up in his chest, but Keith manages to keep a steady head and carry him to the car then drive to Lance’s house. He’d been there a few times for projects and just hanging out or giving Lance a ride home from practice or meets with the rest of them, and Keith quite liked Lance’s house. It was cozy–a bit crowded, but it was almost like a second home to Keith the moment he stepped into the house. The McClain family was nothing but welcoming and accepting, too. 

“Mijo? You’re home early,” Mrs.McClain trails off the moment she sees Keith with Lance in his arms. She motions him forward, and Keith ends up in the living room with a damp cloth in his hand, wiping what was left of the makeup on Lance’s face away. 

By eleven that night, Lance was asleep on the couch, still feverish, Keith was wearing one of his shirt and curled up on the chair, and Mrs.McClain was answering the door and handing the four zombies (and Allura) rags to clean their faces. Shiro nods at her gratefully, and Hunk, Matt, and Pidge wave as she makes her way back upstairs to sleep. 

“How is he?” Shiro whispers. Keith jumps and looks up at them blearily, half asleep. 

“Better than he was at the Walk.” Hunk pulls the loveseat closer to the couch and chair. Shiro sits with Matt on his lap, Pidge on Allura’s, and Hunk sits on the couch with Lance’s legs stretched across his lap. If they were anywhere else, Keith thinks they’d be quite the group, with fake blood smeared across their torn clothes, dirt in their hair, and traces of makeup on their faces. Heck, they look like quite the group just sitting in the McClain’s living room. Then, he thinks, people could save a lot of money and just come here instead of going on some “Haunted Walk”.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at elsiemcclay :)


End file.
